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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27140236">the loneliness of you mighty men</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/josiemontilyets/pseuds/josiemontilyets'>josiemontilyets</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Needs a Hug, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:01:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,104</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27140236</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/josiemontilyets/pseuds/josiemontilyets</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>they say that witchers don't have feelings, but this is just a myth to help ordinary folk sleep easier at night. they love, and miss, and hurt more than any of us do.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy &amp; Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Past Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the loneliness of you mighty men</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello! this is my first little witcher fanfiction! i didnt spell check it so im so sorry if there are mistakes ... unfortunately i am allergic to reading and capital letters. please forgive me for my transgressions against literary conventions. the title for this work is taken from joanna newsom's song 'go long' which is a very nice song. maybe you should listen to it while reading this! i hope you enjoy &lt;333 (also i literally have no clue how timelines work so just like. ignore the things that don’t fit and also how geralt totally didn’t bury regis’s little melted body)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“witchers don’t feel a thing” several dozen hushed voices whispered from every alcove as geralt passed by atop his mare, hood drawn over eyes in a futile attempt to shield himself from the relentless rain. he tapped his heels against roach’s flanks, urging her to trot faster as the bedraggled villagers stared at his twin swords, then spat on the ground in disgust shortly thereafter. the witcher had been riding for hours now, from village to village, and each time he was met with a similar reception. </p><p>geralt was, admittedly bone tired by this point. he wanted nothing more than to alight at the nearest tavern, down several tankards of whatever watered-down piss the innkeeper was serving in guise of beer, then pass out on an itchy straw bed that cost far too many crowns. he had to keep on going, however, if he wanted to reach his destination before the sun sank below the horizon line and the bitter winter frost began creeping in. geralt released his grip on roach’s bridle momentarily to peel away the strands of hair the rain had plastered to his face, then he patted her on the neck in encouragement. he should let her rest soon, he knew, but he needed her to carry on just a little further. he would make sure to spend some of his remaining funds from the zeugl contract he took in the outskirts of aedirn on a bundle of fresh carrots to console her the next time they encountered a merchant. </p><p>geralt rode on further and further, with nothing but the sound of the wind whistling in his ears and roach’s snorts and whinnies for company. it was almost unsettlingly quiet along the winding dust tracks through the endless sea of fields and forests. the ghost of nilfgaard’s attempted invasion and the battle cries of the doomed scoia’tael lingered in the air, providing yet another reason for geralt to press forward without looking back. </p><p>the rain had petered out now. the sun was hanging low and heavy in the sky, illuminating the retreating grey clouds in a deep orange halo. it couldn’t have been more than 4pm, geralt thought to himself. good, truth be told, he had begun to worry that he would not make it before the evening drew in. he jumped out of the saddle and landed in the damp churned soil with a squelch. roach shook her mane impatiently. geralt quirked a half-smile, reached into his satchel, retrieved a trio of small cubes and fed them to her. “good girl,” he rasped, voice unaccustomed to talking after so many days alone on the road. </p><p>this final part of his journey had to be made on his own. he left roach and continued on foot, climbing up a cliff face so steep it seemed practically vertical. just as the soft violet dusk light began to fade, making way for a scattering of lonely stars, geralt reached the peak. the sight before him twisted his gut in two, a deep uneasy feeling sitting heavy at the pit of his stomach. he forced his leaden feet forwards nonetheless, until he came to rest on his knees before it. the pile of gravel with a solitary wooden stake protruding from it. it almost mocked geralt with its stillness, with its lack of life. his throat constricted then, and so he cleared it with a brief cough. his head ached under the weight of it all. it was altogether too much, his heightened senses reaching a breaking point, like a dam breaking after the spring sun melted the ice in the river. but geralt knew he had to do this, sure as he knew that no witcher ever died in his bed, sure as he knew that one day he would lie forgotten beneath such a gravel pile, deep in an equally forgotten forest on top of an equally forgotten cliff. </p><p>geralt shook the maudlin thoughts from his mind and willed the words he so desperately wanted to say to spill forth from his dry mouth. his tongue felt akin to a foreign object, a phantom limb, but he began nonetheless. </p><p>“old friend, three winters have passed since i buried you. it is strange to think that the sun continues to rise and fall whereas you shall never rise again. i thought i saw you several weeks back, dancing between the droves of people selling their wares along the bank of the pontar. if i close my eyes, i can see you smiling, laughing as you buy some rare herb and stow it away in your coat pocket as though it were some secret to take …. to take to the grave.” geralt paused to breathe, and it came out ragged and torn, as if he had just fought several archgriffins at once. he carried on nonetheless. “yes, my dearest friend, it has been three years since stygga castles. three years since,” the disgust in his voice betrayed him, “vilgefortz… since he …. since ….. i cannot bear to say it, so please, i beg of you, don’t make me say it. im not sure i am ready to forgive you for it. i owe everything to you for that moment, but i can’t forgive it. they say death is destined to dog my steps, to follow me into the soft night and destroy all in my wake, but why did it have to be you? why did you have to leave? everyone else, i expect it, but you? never you.” geralt did not cry. he could not cry. but his vision blurred nonetheless as he took in another burning breath, setting his ageing lungs aflame. “so no, i won’t forgive you. but more than that, i won’t forgive myself. you would still be here, bringing goodness into the world, bringing worth and wisdom into the world, if it weren’t for me.”</p><p> it was dark now. geralt pulled several tallow candles from his satchel, placed them on the grave and lit them with igni. he sat and drank in the silence of the encroaching night, an intoxicating tonic to his weary soul. he watched as the flames flickered and danced in the breeze. his breath formed plumes of mist, a burst of heat in the all-consuming cold. his knuckles went parchment-pale and numb as he gripped the leather of his trousers in a futile attempt to anchor himself to something, anything. then, so quietly it could barely be heard, geralt whispered, “why won’t you come back to me?”</p><p>witchers don’t feel a thing, geralt thought to himself. and, completely alone in the dead of night, he laughed.</p>
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